The Vultures Will Know
by Benestro
Summary: "Lay down! Look at them flies! Them vultures! They know the truth! You no fool them! By Jhil, Lay down I say!"


I

Basilius opened his eyes and gazed upon hell. All about him the ruins of Haileus blazed. He stood in what was the garden of his modest home, now trampled by hooves and booted feet. He regarded the pathetic little heaps that had been his wife and children littering the ground, festooned with feathered shafts. He recited their names; Jagna, Fane, Dryas, Halina.

Behind some barrier in his soul he felt the profound grief of one who has lost all, but it was strangely distant, overwhelmed by an irresistible compulsion to punish those responsible. He knew the sigil of his enemy, emblazoned on the jerkins of the men who drew their bows and rained a hail of arrows Basilius and his family. A Silver Stag. In his mind, as if placed there by some eldritch means, he could see the whereabouts of each bearer of the Silver Stag. There were some eighty left alive. Each of these he would kill in the name of his family and all the citizens of Haileus ravaged by these hellhounds. Basilius plucked three arrows from his flesh, heedless of pain, and took the first steps on his march for revenge.

He walked mechanically along a deserted avenue. Choked with debris and the bodies of the slain. Vultures swarmed over the bloating, ruined carcasses, delighting in this carrion feast. One of the scavengers lighted on his shoulder and sought to bite into his neck. Its beak and claws stung his flesh, but it was little more than a distracting nuisance. He slapped the bird away and it flew off with a squawk of protest.

Basilius passed by a particularly luxurious home, and hearing voices from within, felt compelled to investigate. In the richly appointed entrance hall he found three fighting men standing over the bodies of two others. One was helmetless and wore a crimson cloak. His hair and beard was shot with gray. All wore the Silver Stag. The greybeard was haranguing the others.

"Damn your eyes! What happened! I told you dogs to control yourselves!"

One of the subordinates stammered a reply.

"General Vikare! We did not set out to do ill! Our blood was up! The princess taunted and cursed us as we passed! We meant to take her captive, but Krathides suggest we teach her a lesson. Then the Aesir protested and killed Krathides and Perdias before riding off."

"Bastards!" roared Vikare. "I'll have you flayed to the bone for… Eh?"

Basilius stepped into the midst of the mercenaries. Somewhere he'd acquired a broadax and now gripped it in his right hand. Vikare stepped forward.

"See here man, the fighting has ended! Lay down thy axe and…"

The Kothic general never finished his statement. Vikare had soldiered all his life, and could read in the eyes of a man if her were a slayer or not. He had seen nothing in the glazed black orbs of the Corinthian. In his desire to not compound the sins of his men he made a fatal error.

Basilius lashed out with the axe and hacked deep into Vikare's neck. The general reeled backward, clawing at the wound to no avail against the fountain of blood that erupted.

The next blow of the axe took the head off one mercenary as he dragged his sword from its scabbard, all too slowly. The remaining warrior swung his sword and slashed Basilius from shoulder to hip. But to no discernable effect, the aggrieved Corinthian was oblivious to all but the hunger for revenge. He brought the axe down with such force that it sheared through helmet and skull alike, breaking the haft off near the head.

Basilius dropped the broken haft and walked to Vikare. There he stooped and tore the crimson cloak from the dying general. Vikare sought to speak but only produce a whistling gurgle.

Basilius forced his entrails back into his body, and wrapped the cloak about his torso to hold them in place. He collected Vikare's sword and returned to the street. He knew there were others he must kill, and where to find them. He would not falter until all were dead. He set out toward the city gate.

From the rooftops, a vulture observed the Corinthian's movements for a moment, and then took flight.

II

A miles-long caravan meandered along the road to Brythunia that wound through the foothills of the Karpash Mountains. They came from all walks of life, these doleful and grim-faced people. The rich, the poor, the wise and the foolish, all laid low by the cruel whims of destiny. Some led oxcarts and wagons laden with hastily rescued belongings, some carried small bundles, most had only the clothes on their backs. There had been wails of bereavement and curses of anger, but as the miles wore on the marching refugees lapsed into grim silence. All had fled the Corinthian city-state of Haileus when it was sacked and razed by mercenaries employed by the rival city-state of Tartessos.

Kuria, late of Haileus, stumbled along the trailing edge of the caravan. Her fine coral-hued gown was torn and filthy, and her resplendently styled auburn curls had fallen in a disheveled mass about her shoulders. Her delicate silk slippers where in tatters. She paused, wiping the sweat and dust from her steely grey eyes. She cursed the heat of the midday sun, and scanned her surroundings.

Her striking beauty had enabled her to rise from the bathos of poverty to become one of the most sought after courtesans in Corinthia. But now the ravening jaws of war had chewed up that life and spat her out here, penniless and friendless. Kuria did not grieve overmuch over her fate; such was the way of things. She would struggle and claw her way up again, whatever the cost.

Foremost on her mind now was her safety. Having barely escaped the city with her life, she had fallen in with the wretched caravan. Her fellow refugees had kept to themselves at first, but as the miles wore on, she noticed menacing glances cast her direction, some of resentment, some of leering lust. Kuria was a tough and capable woman, but her willowy frame was ill-suited to violent action.

As she took in her environs, her eye was drawn to a mounted warrior in full armor, his features concealed by a close helmet. Presently the warrior turned his black rouncey off the road and down to an adjacent wooded area. Kuria hastily arranged her disheveled locks, smoothed her gown about her lithe body, and followed.

After a brief struggle through the woods, involving fending off briars and spider webs, Kuria found the tall warrior dismounted in the clearing, removing a broad leather belt from his waist from which depended a straight, heavy sword and a stout dagger.

"May as well get this over with." she thought.

She sauntered elegantly into the clearing, her most winning smile on her lips.

"That armor must be stifling in this heat, warrior. Might I help you to remove it?"

The helmet swung about. Kuria caught the glint of green eyes regarding her from the shadowed slit in the helm, before the warrior turned his back on her and struggled to release the buckles on his heavy brigandine, a Kothic design embossed with a silver stag. She moved closer, hands behind her back and affecting a pouty, childlike manner that many found endearing.

"Come now. Let me help. I am as knowledgeable about arms and armor as any squire, and you will find my touch far more pleasant."

"I will manage" the warrior replied."

His exotically accented voice was softer and higher pitched than Kuria would have imagined. But she had known many a lad that took up the sword ere they fully reached manhood.

She took another step closer. The armored figure turned again toward the movement, no doubt the reflex of a fighting man. He grunted slightly and seemed to favor his left hip. Kuria gasped dramatically and took on an aspect of concern.

"Oh! You are hurt!"

Resting her hand on a mailed shoulder and posing such that the warrior would get the best view of her charms. Her voice grew seductive.

"I can ease your pain warrior; my touch is a balm for what pains you."

Kuria embraced the warrior, pressing her body against his armor. Taking his gauntlet hand, she drew it close to her body until it rested on her breast.

"I long for your touch." she purred. "Give your hands free reign over my body."

Gently, yet firmly, the warrior took her by the shoulders and placed her at arm's length.

"Thank you, but no. And further…"

The warrior released the last strap securing the brigandine and wriggled free of it. The mail shirt and crimson tunic beneath it failed to conceal the swell of a full bosom and the curve of feminine hips. The mail links jingled metallically as the warrior grasped her breasts in gauntleted hands and shook them.

"Should I wish to paw at a wench's udders I have my own."

Kuria recoiled, shocked.

"Ishtar! A woman!"

The warrior doffed her crested helm and shook out a long tawny mane. She grinned at the courtesan mischievously as she tossed the helm aside.

Aye! Sorry you wasted such effort. It was very seductive I'm sure!"

The warrior stooped and began the task of removing the greaves and cuisses from her legs. Kuria re-assessed her target. A taller or more powerfully-built female Kuria had never seen. She was some sort of northern barbarian no doubt, but it was clear she was young, more girl than woman.

"I can still be of service to you, warrior, my skills are such that a woman may benefit as much as a man! I can..."

"Sigyn."

"Eh?"

"My name, so that you might stop calling me 'warrior'. I am Sigyn, of Asgard. Who are you?"

"Kuria"

"Good. I am not disposed to make use of your skills, Kuria."

The Corinthian sighed and dropped her seductive manner and quickly rethought her strategy.

"So be it! I will speak plainly now, Sigyn of Asgard."

"That would be a welcome change."

Kuria continued unperturbed.

"I lost all when I fled the city. I have no money, no valuables, and no influence. Only the clothes on my back. I am no fighter. I sought to attach myself to a strong fighting man for protection, in exchange for the only currency I have left."

"And you selected me for that dubious honor? "

Sigyn fumed and struggled with the leg armor. The fastenings had become fouled during the fighting and were difficult to manipulate.

"I'm as close to a fighting man as you are like to find hereabouts. Haileus' defenders were slaughtered to a man, save for the mercenaries that switched sides near the end, and the Kothians employed by Tartessos no doubt still rape and pillage as we speak. I'm only here among these refugees because I deserted."

Kuria was taken aback.

"You were among Haileus' defenders?"

"Nay, I rode with Vikare's Kothic light cavalry. We poured through the gap in the wall when the mines collapsed. The men of Haileus fought bravely and put up a stern defense, but were undone when the mercenaries supporting them turned and threw in with us. Bastards! I say if you take a man's coin to fight at his side you should do so, to the end if need be. But I am but a naive savage… Atali's tits! This damnable armor!"

Kuria knelt and shooed Sigyn away from straps.

"Let me. You are only tangling them further!"

Sigyn rose and allowed the Corinthian to work. She continued her account.

"At any rate, the men of Haileus were butchered. Then the mercenaries turned on the citizenry. In the king's palace I came upon men of my company taking turns ravishing some noblewoman. When I intervened they turned on me! Men I'd served with this past year without so much as a cross word between us now became as ravening wolves! I had to slay a couple, but all told they were too many and I had to retreat."

"And the noblewoman?"

"She managed to flee while we fought; I know not what happened to her after that. I decided then and there I'd had my fill of civilized warfare."

Kuria nodded without comment. She had witnessed some of the horrors being inflicted on the people of Haileus. She gave thanks to Ishtar and Bel she had avoided that fate. She now had managed to remove the armor from Sigyn's powerful legs. The Aesir rubbed them where the straps had chafed her pale flesh and smiled appreciatively.

"My thanks! I'll keep the mail shirt; it's no bother and bears no markings of Vikare's company."

Kuria rose and looked up at her, her visage free of any dissemblage.

"See here, Sigyn. You seem to be a stout fighter. Be my guardian until we reach safety and I will act as your servant. I am skilled in more than just the one area. I have learned to set broken limbs and bind wounds. I can cook, sew and tell fortunes. I know horseflesh as well as any stable hand and I can tame that flaxen rat's nest growing from your head! You will need not lift a finger! What say you?"

Sigyn strapped on her sword belt and ran her fingers through her mane. She found it tangled.

"I suppose you can be of help. I will act as your protector, but only until we reach a city in Brythunia, maybe Pirogia. I am for Asgard, as I am overdue there. Come! Let's rejoin the caravan."

The Aesir mounted the black rouncey and beckoned Kuria.

"Come, I won't have my new servant wearing herself out walking."

Kuria contemplated the situation for a few heartbeats, then, gathering the hem of her gown about her hips, clambered up on the horse's back. Gripping the high cantle of the Kothic saddle with one hand she wrapped her other arm about the barbarian girl's waist.

"Be careful, I am likely to fall off if you ride too madly."

"I could carry you over the pommel like a prize."

"I'll manage back here."

Sigyn spurred the horse out of the wood and back on the trail.

"What awaits you in Asgard that you are overdue for?" inquired Kuria.

The Aesir girl sighed.

"Just my wedding."

III

Some days later, Sigyn and Kuria struggled up a steep hillside leading the horse, now laden with sacks and bundles. They had abandoned the caravan to strike off due north along a lesser used trail. Thus they travelled for some days, subsisting off small game and whatever crude fare Sigyn could forage from the surrounding countryside. At last they came upon a small farming village where they managed to procure supplies.

Sigyn had a few coins in her possession, though the Brythunian bumpkins had to be coerced into taking the exotic, Kothian silver pieces. At Kuria's urging the Aesir girl traded her mail shirt and the rouncey's expensive, well-crafted saddle for more a more modest harness, as well additional food and supplies. This included more practical attire for the courtesan, consisting of a tan linen tunic and leather sandals. Kuria's efforts to get the blonde savage to part with her sword or dagger in exchange for further comforts met with flat refusal and ridicule. They rested for a day, sleeping in the stables, and then set out again somewhat refreshed.

The trail gradually became fainter, until it was non-existent. Sigyn set them on a northerly course cross-country. The going was strenuous, as the summer heat was enormously vexing. Occasional rain showers provided temporary respite, but the steamy aftermath only increased their misery.

When the women at last crested the hill, Kuria found a flat boulder and sat down, mopping sweat from her brow with the already sodden collar of her tunic.

"I am resting now, by Ishtar! My lungs are fit to burst! Abandon me if you wish, savage, I care not."

"Don't be so dramatic." replied Sigyn, "Catch your breath; horse needs a break as well."

Truth be told, The Aesir lass was grateful for the pause as well, her legs burned from the climb and her eyes were irritated from the sweat that had trickled into them.

Kuria scowled.

"Why do you call it 'horse'? Can you not give the beast a proper name?"

"War horses tend to die often, and it upsets me. It's worse if I name them and make pets of them."

The sincerity of the girls answer made Kuria regret her sharp tone. That a savage man-slayer from the frozen north could be sentimental about horses struck her as odd. She softened her demeanor.

"What see you from this vantage point, barbarian? A road I hope. Better still, a city; where one might procure a bath and a roast chicken."

"No such luck, more woods and rolling hills… Ah! What's this?"

Sigyn gazed intently at something in the middle distance. Groaning the Corinthian rose and hobbled to her side.

"What is it?"

Sigyn pointed to a low hillock perhaps a half mile away.

"That oval hill looks too regular to my eyes; it looks shaped by the hands of men. And look! That's a thread of smoke writhing up out of the wood adjacent to it, by Ymir!"

"A campfire then? Could be hunters, or brigands."

"Maybe. Still, I'm of a mind to have a look at that hill. It puts me in mind of some of the mounds raised by the Hyperborians. It may be worth our while to check in to."

"Treasure, you think? Seems risky. We are ill-prepared to contend with bandits or dig up tombs."

"You will have an easier time of it with a golden idol or sack of gems to fence when we reach a city. And I would not return to Asgard destitute. We'll have a look, stealthily. If it bodes ill, we can slip away."

Kuria was loath to investigate some mysterious campfire, or trudge up and down another hill unnecessarily, but Sigyn's words rang true about the desirability of treasure, and proceeding without the fierce barbarian scarcely bore thinking about.

They descended the steep slope at an angle to avoid tumbling down. Sigyn made for the winding thread of blue-gray smoke, more out of curiosity than anything else. They soon came upon a narrow footpath into the woods.

"Will this little side trip not delay your return to Asgard?" asked Kuria, "What of this wedding you spoke of, how late are you again?"

Sigyn's face reddened. It was not the first time the Corinthian had pressed her for details on a subject she was loathe to discuss.

"A little over a year. I was to marry Radulf last spring."

"That's a long time to defer, is this Radulf not to your liking?"

"Oh, he's a fine lad. I am happy enough to marry him, but I thought it better to see some of the world first, there will be little opportunity to do so after we are wed. I had a chance to ride with Vikare's Kothians so I took it."

"I would think being a girl alone among a company of lusty, bloodthirsty mercenaries would be… problematic."

"Not as bad as you'd expect. There were a few incidents when I had to thump a few heads, but once the lads saw I could handle myself they left me be."

"But, how did you… that is... Did you remain chaste for your Radulf? Surely with all those iron-thewed warriors about there were temptations."

"I tried to occupy my mind with other things. Hush now, we draw close to the source of that smoke."

The twain meandered along in silence for a short time, and after about a hundred paces the trail ended in a small clearing which contained a crude circular hut of roughhewn logs and a sod roof. Slices of meat and pelts dried on racks set about the place, and a cauldron suspended over a fire bubbled away before the hut.

They had scarcely come in sight of it when the rawhide curtain hung across the entrance was flung aside and a man emerged.

He was a wildly exotic figure, completely incongruous to the Brythunian forest he inhabited. He was a wizened, sinewy man, appearing as though he were carved from ebony. He went naked save for a filthy rag twisted about his loins. He was festooned with feathers and draped with crude ornaments of bone and carved wood. His hair hung in matted plaits about his weather-beaten face. His dark eyes blazed forth over a grinning mouth still filled with strong white teeth.

"Aieee!" he wailed in mock surprise. "Jhil taunts Kimoni for his sins, sending him two beauties, with him too old to do them right!"

Kimoni sauntered out of the hut with an energetic gait that belied his obvious years. He carried in his gnarled hand an elaborately carved staff topped with the sculpted head of a roaring lion or some other feline. He did not lean upon it; he bore it as a king might bear a scepter.

"It been many moons since Kimoni have guests! Come, come! Sit, here in the shade!"

Kimoni indicated a circle of logs that had been hewn into rough stools. Kuria balked at sitting upon them, one was visibly swarming with fire-ants.

"You are Kimoni, yes?" she inquired.

"Aye!"

"You aren't a native Brythunian, are you?"

"Nay! I was born in Darfar! Far from Brythunia, further than even the icy homeland of your straw-haired friend here! What they feed you up there, girl, that make you grow so big?"

The old fellow allowed Sigyn no time to fire off any terse retort.

"Wait! For such a day as this we need strong drink, by Jhil!"

In a rattling flurry of feathers and ornaments, Kimoni dashed into his hut and swiftly returned with a clay jar, this he opened and passed to Sigyn. She sniffed the contents, and the pungent aroma started her eyes watering.

"My thanks." she said dubiously.

Not wishing to appear impolite she sipped the fluid. It was as if her mouth was filled with burning embers... Grimacing she passed the jar to Kuria.

"Don't drink that." she advised.

Kimoni laughed uproariously and took the jar from the Corinthian. He turned it up and guzzled the fiery stuff.

"Good medicine this is!" he said, brandishing the jar. "Drives out devils! Blinds the eyes of the demon! It is proof against the forces of the dark!" He took another sip and continued.

"Aye! From Darfar I come. I was shaman of my tribe, powerful in my craft! I took an apprentice, taught him the ways of the witch doctor, but I chose poorly, he was no good. And worse, I left him to his own devices and chased after women and strong drink! Aiee! Jhil teach me lesson! My apprentice tricked me into taking The Drink that Makes the Living Walk like the Dead. My mind was deadened, my will was sapped! Leaving me his puppet! In that state he sold me to Kushite slave traders. By the time I came to my senses, I was laboring in a mill here in Brythunia. Through my craft I eventually made my escape. And came to live in these woods."

Sigyn interrupted.

"Why do you not return to Darfar, and take revenge on your betrayer?"

"What good is revenge? Would it undo what has happened to me? Nay, Jhil ordained that his be my lot, who am I to contend against his will? Besides, I prefer the weather here!"

Sigyn snorted with laughter, and made a show of wiping sweat from her brow.

"Aye, Brythunia has a very mild climate!"

Kimoni guffawed once more, Sigyn joined in giggling. Kuria regarded them both with irritation.

With the frivolity concluded, Sigyn inquired after that which interested her the most.

"Yon hillock looks raised artificially, Kimoni. Do you know aught of it?"

The old witch doctor rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

"Aye it's an old barrow to be sure. I have not delved into it. Kimoni has made enough enemies in the spirit world without stirring more up. Pretty young girls like you should have better things to do than digging up old bones."

The Aesir's eyes narrowed and she leaned in, speaking in a conspiratorial tone in spite of their remote locale.

"Tis not the bones I am interested in. Men of such status to have a mound raised over them were often buried with an overabundance of treasure."

"You would rob the dead then?"

Sigyn paled a bit when the situation was put to her thus, her desire for gain briefly overshadowed by the superstitious dread of the barbarian. Kuria scowled. She knew all too well the suffering that was the lot of the poor, while the wealthy would be entombed with wealth that would have fed generations of common folk. It was she that retorted.

"The dead should not be so greedy; they are beyond the earthly need for wealth. We who still struggle on this side of the vale must get what we can."

"Kimoni will not hinder you. He even tell you where a great oak growing from the mound was blown over in a storm a few moons agone. Uprooted, it tore a great hole, it will allow you entry. But be advised by Kimoni! Around you both is the touch of the devil-world! Already them eyes of them old spirits are on you. Do not be so keen to draw them closer!"

The witch doctor from Darfar then told them where to find the opening in the mound, even scratching a crude map in the dirt. It was not far, perhaps an hour's walk. Tired as they were, the women decided to investigate forthwith. Sigyn rose and hitched up her sword belt. New determination showed in her jade eyes.

"I thank you, and I hear your warnings, grandfather, but if there be treasure in yon mound, we would have it. We are greedy perhaps, but not without justification. May we leave our horse here while we scout it out? We will give you a share of the treasure, and if we come up empty handed, you may help yourself to whatever of our baggage that will serve for payment."

"Kimoni needs no payment. He will keep your horse safe, and ask Jhil to protect you, even if you be greedy white devils!"

Sigyn snickered.

"So be it! Oh, and I'd like to take that jar of spirits if you don't mind, it will come in handy kindling torches!"

Kimoni whooped with laughter and leapt in the air.

"No, no! Waste not the devil-juice! Kimoni will give you torches!"

The old witch doctor went to his hut and brought forth a bundle of prepared torches, while Kuria and Sigyn outfitted themselves as best they could. Kuria would rather have avoided delving into the mound, but preferred Sigyn's company to that of the outrageously bizarre Kimoni. She suspected he was unhinged.

At last, they trudged off toward the mound. Kimoni watched them fade into the trees, all the while muttering a litany to Jhil.

IV

Kimoni tied Sigyn's horse up under some shade trees and provided it with a bucket of water and some turnips. After some time, he busied himself with his daily routine. The white women would return or they would not, with a haul of valuables or empty handed. He had felt it was his duty to dissuade them, but he had no compelling reason that they should not dig about the mound. Likely they'd find only grubs and stones.

He was engrossed with preparing a batch of berries to ferment into more devil-juice when the short hairs on his neck bristled. Something was wrong. A psychic pall fell over his clearing, and the sultry, humid air seemed to grow chill. Then he noticed the vultures.

There were at least six of them, lit among the branches surrounding his clearing. They perched there unmoving, taking no interest in Kimoni's drying meat. The witch-doctor took up his cat-headed staff and peered up the trail. He spied a man approaching with a determined, relentless gait. Kimoni hissed through his teeth, shocked at the intruder's aspect.

The man was pale and drawn, his dark hair lank and plastered to his face, but he did not appear to sweat. A stained crimson cloth was wound tight about his trunk, and was his only attire aside from filthy silk breeks. Great oozing gashes were hewn in his limbs and body, and his bare feet were shredded and mangled. Flies crowded about these horrid wounds, and swarmed in the air around him. Strangely, the man seemed untroubled by these wounds, which should have felled him. He gripped in his battered right hand a finely crafted longsword, clotted with gore. Kimoni stepped out in the man's path.

"Hold, white man! Where do you go with such vigor, when you're so sorely hurt?"

The man stopped a few paces from Kimoni. His blank eyes seemed to stare through the old shaman. Cold, dead eyes. Kimoni knew those eyes; any who wallowed in the festering black chaos men called sorcery would know those eyes. He gripped his staff in both gnarled ebon hands and brandished it at the interloper.

"Speak, man! Give your name! In the name of Jhil, Kimoni compels you!"

"Basilius." the man croaked.

"What you want here, Basilius?"

"Revenge. One who rode under the silver stag is near. I will kill them. I will take revenge."

"Who you taking revenge for?"

"Jagna, Fane, Dryas, Halina."

"That all? How many you kill up to now?"

"Twelve."

Kimoni whistled.

"That's a feat I say. Looks like some of them get their blows in, no? You know how you keep going?"

"I will not cease until all are avenged."

Basilius stepped forward. Kimoni raised his staff above his head and shouted.

"Hold! You will not pass by me!"

Basilius tried to step forward, but could not. He was compelled not to pass the gnarled old shaman.

"Look at yourself!" Kimoni crooned. "What could an old man like me do to stay you, if you were not bewitched? Look at your wounds! You know they should lay you down! Why you think you keep going?"

Basilius' clouded eyes seemed to clear for a moment. He blinked.

"I… the wounds… they are minor. I am not pained by them… I must finish. Must avenge!"

Kimoni shook his head. He held out the clay jar of devil-juice.

"How long you been walking? You thirsty? Drink. Eat some dried meat yonder."

Basilius looked about, confused.

"I need no food… no drink… I… Jagna, Fane… "

"You need no food, no drink. You feel no pain no weariness. You carry wounds that kill a man thrice over. You dead, white man. Lay down."

"No… I… revenge!"

"Lay down! Look at them flies! Them vultures! They know the truth! You no fool them! By Jhil, Lay down I say!"

Basilius staggered, and took a step backward. Kimoni shook his staff, invoking Jhil and the primeval gods of Darfar.

"Lay down, Basilius!"

The battered, ruined form of Basilius swayed his arms went limp… but then his countenance resumed its grim aspect of determination. He raised his sword and lunged. But still he could not move past the shaman.

The walking dead man paused for a heartbeat, the turned sharply to his right, plunging out of the clearing and into the woods. Soon he faded from sight with a clamor of rustling leaves and breaking limbs. Trembling, Kimoni watched him depart.

"AH! I know where the dead man walk. He get past my circle right enough! Jhil! Grant me the strength to work one more big magic!"

Kimoni rushed back inside his hut. Muttering and hastily gathering articles.

One by one, the vultures took flight.

V

"...Grasp it tightly Sigyn, but not too tightly, be mindful of the great strength in those beastly paws of yours! Don't be afraid to… "

"Can you please talk about something else?"

"You'll need to know these things for your wedding night! You should be grateful to have the benefit of my experience."

Sigyn scowled as she worked flint and steel to light a torch. Kuria had chattered away nervously the whole journey to the fallen tree and had continued as they prepared to crawl into the black, gaping hole that its root ball had scooped out when it uprooted. Her topics for discussion invariably where things that made the barbarian girl uncomfortable. The torch kindled and blazed, and Sigyn handed it to the courtesan.

"Enough prattle! Take this and follow!"

Drawing her sword and taking up a second torch lit from Kuria's blazing one, the Aesir stooped and entered the dark opening.

The covering of soil had been pulled away from the kurgan and the underlying layer of stones was exposed and damaged. Sigyn was able to create an opening in the stone by pulling it away with her bare hands; this allowed them egress into a large, roughly circular chamber.

Save for the damaged section where the women entered, the interior walls were covered in a layer of clay. Sigyn gasped involuntarily as her torchlight revealed the details of the chamber. The walls were covered in elaborate paintings in vivid pigments. There were scenes of mounted hunters bringing down mammoth, rhinoceros, aurochs, and elk. There were masterful depictions of mighty warriors contending with one another with sword, axe, or unarmed. The domed ceiling was painted to resemble the vault of the sky, complete with sun, clouds, and birds.

All along the circular walls were arranged chests, racks of tarnished bronze weapons, and great clay jars painted with intricate designs. There was a great bronze door marking the proper entrance to the tomb. It was cast in the form of the head of a man, thickly maned and bearded, his mouth open as though laughing uproariously at some jest.

Dominating the center of the chamber was a great marble sarcophagus. Atop the great slab that enclosed it was a bronze casting of an armored warrior, laying as if in slumber. His bearded face was a match for the one upon the door.

Sigyn and Kuria rifled through the various chests and jars, they had contained clothing, tools and foodstuffs. All had long ago decayed and were unusable. Sigyn examined the weapons on the racks and found many to be sound and of decent workmanship. But the tarnished bronze would be no match for the steel of modern Hyborian kingdoms so she gave them short shrift.

The twain found themselves regarding the sarcophagus. Kuria playfully slapped Sigyn across her haunches.

"It will take your mighty thews to shift that slab, barbarian! Well! Get to it!"

The girl scowled, the idea of rifling through human remains for a few coins or bits of jewelry was not appealing to her. But to have come this far…

Sigyn pressed her palms along the edge of the slab and placed her feet to gain maximum purchase on the tiles. With a sharp intake of breath she pressed against the slab with all her might. There was a faint scraping sound and the slab shifted slightly. Kuria moved beside the Aesir and lent her strength to the effort. A wedge of darkness appeared between the slab and sarcophagus, and a draught of foul air assaulted their nostrils. Sigyn shouted and surged forward; pushing the slab a few more inches until it became unbalanced and tipped over on the floor with a resounding crash. The women peered inside.

They beheld a gaunt, desiccated carcass. Wisps of hair and beard still clung to the parchment-like skin. The lips were drawn far back around the teeth in a nightmarish rictus. The eyes were shriveled, prune-like affairs. The bony hands gripped a rusty iron sword. The corpse was unadorned otherwise, showing a disheartening lack of wealth. Sigyn was about to despair when Kuria pointed out the elaborate chest resting between the corpses' feet. Sigyn seized it and set it up on the edge of the sarcophagus. It was well-preserved and decorated with tiny bronze branches and leaves. It opened easily. Inside it were innumerable transparent green stones, all roughly the size of the first joint of a man's finger.

Kuria squealed with glee.

"Emeralds!"

"Aye!" agreed Sigyn. "These should pay our way nicely."

"Come Sigyn, close the chest and let us quit this place, it is too damned creepy!"

Kuria did not tarry; she quickly made for the opening and was exiting the mound before Sigyn had secured the chest.

"Don't trouble yourself, Corinthian! I have the chest. I thought you were to be my servant?"

Kuria made no response. Sigyn sheathed her sword and tucked the chest under her arm. Holding her torch aloft, she spared a few heartbeats to marvel at the painted walls once more, then left the tomb. She hailed Kuria as she walked.

"I said, don't trouble yourself, I have the chest. I thought you were to be…"\

The quip died on the Aesir's lips as she emerged from the hole. Kuria lay stretched out near the great gnarled root ball, her brains leaking out upon the decaying leaves from a split skull. Her hand still gripping the torch that now set those leaves to smoldering.

Over her body stood a nightmarish figure, a blank-eyed man covered in oozing wounds, swarming with flies. A gore-clotted sword gripped in his fist.

VI

Shrieking in mindless fury, Sigyn dropped her torch and hurled the cask of jewels at Basilius, striking him in the chest. There was the sound of bones breaking as it impacted, bursting open and showering the forest floor in precious emeralds. Basilius staggered but kept his feet. Sigyn drew her sword and lunged before Basilius could react, driving it to the hilt through the man's chest. Again, he showed no reaction. Again, he did not fall. He swung his sword. Sigyn could not free her own blade in time to parry and desperately twisted to avoid the blow. The sword sliced neatly through her tunic and opened a gash across her back.

Fighting past the pain, Sigyn drew her dagger and drove it deep into the shoulder of Basilius' sword-arm. With a sawing motion she severed through bone and sinew until he dropped the sword and his arm hung uselessly, but still the undying menace did not falter. Seizing Sigyn by the neck with his left hand, he lifted her from the ground and hurled her into the felled tree. There was a sickening crack as several of the Aesir's ribs broke, and she slumped to the ground gasping for breath. Basilius stooped and took up his sword once more. He raised it on high to deal the death blow.

The Aesir came up in a half crouch and caught his wrist as the blow descended, grappling his sword arm. She drove her fist into his belly and her arm tore through the red silk binding, sinking deep into his body. When she withdrew it, her arm came out with a welter of blackened, maggot infested entrails.

Wailing, Sigyn thrust Basilius away from her and reeled backward over the fallen tree. She lurched to her feet, wheezing wetly, every movement causing her agony. She tore a decayed cedar branch from the ground and brandished it like a cudgel. Basilius stood dumbfounded, gawking at the torrent of foul, reeking offal pouring from his torn belly onto the forest floor. Behind him vultures lighted among the trees.

Thus was the scene Kimoni beheld when he arrived.

"Basilius!" He thundered. "Look! Your guts fall to the ground, blades transfix you! Can you still not see! And lo!"

With his staff he pointed to the still body of Kuria.

"Was that girl one who kill your people? You no better than those who fought under the silver stag!"

Basilius turned his gore spattered head and looked upon Kuria.

"No." he mumbled. "No. I must avenge… I…"

Kimoni's hand shot out and a purple cloud issued forth, enveloping Basilius.

"Lay down, Basilius! Heed no more those angry ghosts. Go to the land of the dead where your people await. Go!"

Basilius' mouth worked wordlessly for a few heartbeats and he cast his head about like a blind man. He dropped to his knees; from there he pitched sideways on the ground and lay still.

One by one, the vultures dropped down upon the corpse of Basilius and feasted.

VII

Kimoni tried to take Sigyn back to his hut so he might treat her wounds, but she refused. She managed to carry Kuria's body into the mound and lay it in the sarcophagus alongside the ancient warrior before she collapsed. The old witch-doctor contrived a travois and drug the Aesir back to his hut. He stitched up the gash in her back and bound up her broken ribs with cloth. When she awoke, he compelled her to swallow a copious amount of the devil-juice to which he added various herbs.

The next day, Sigyn struggled out of the hut at dawn, rebuffing all Kimoni's protests, and returned to the scene of the previous day's horror. Driving away the vultures, she gathered up the mangled remains of Basilius and placed them inside the tomb. Then she painstakingly recovered all of the spilled emeralds she could. Half of these she returned to the cask, which she lay in the sarcophagus by Kuria, the remainder she set aside for herself and Kimoni, along with Vikare's sword. With a supreme effort, Sigyn lifted the slab back up and slid it into place. This set her wound to bleeding again, and caused excruciating pain from her broken ribs. She lay by the sarcophagus for some time and wept.

At length she collected herself and hobbled out of the tomb. Painstakingly she piled the fallen rocks of the tomb back into place and covered them with earth she dug and scraped with her bare hands. The sun was setting when she returned to Kimoni's hut and sprawled upon some grass mats. Kimoni passed her the jar. They sat for some time in silence, until at last Sigyn spoke.

"What was that?"

"Him say he would kill all who rode under the silver stag, for it was they who kill his family."

"The silver stag. The standard of Vikare's company. Damn! But I didn't kill his family, I never saw him in my life. And Kuria had no part in any of it! What sorcery kept him alive, and allowed him to know where I was?"

Kimoni sipped his devil-juice and settled back on the rude arrangement of straw and branches that served as his bed.

"The world be cruel and unjust. Sometimes, when people be killed… murdered, they die angry. Their ghosts cry out for revenge. These angry ghosts not move on, they stay close by the world of the livin'. They been pilin' up since time began. Sometimes, when somebody die angry enough, and the stars be right, them ghosts, they go in the body, keep it movin', keep it angry, keep it killin'! They not carin' who they kill. They can't remember who to take revenge on, they just kill. They ghosts, they don't know any better. All them ghost eyes watchin' us all the time, THEY tell Basilius where you at." Kimoni shook his head and lay down the clay jar. "Jhil! The devil-juice get on me fast! Maybe Kimoni is too old to drink like him used to! Tell me, girl, what you do now?"

"Head north. I'll sell the emeralds and buy enough gifts for my tribe that they will forgive my long absence. I'll give Vikare's fine sword to my Radulf, the poor oaf! This time next year I'll be stewing meat and tanning hides, all while great with child I'll wager!"

Sigyn tried to lay down, moaning as she struggled to find a position that did not cause her pain. Failing this, she sighed.

"The world is, in truth, cruel and unjust. That I have helped make it more so of late pains me. Kuria was a good woman; for all that she was a whore. I laid her beside that king of old in his tomb; I would think a courtesan would like to lay with a king forever. I wish that she had never crossed my path, I brought her to this end."

"Don't reproach yourself so, girl! All of us are ignorant of what awaits us from moment to moment. If your path in life bring you pain, take a new one! You are but a child; you have time to make new mistakes!"

Sigyn made no reply and sought the oblivion of sleep. The crooning voice of the old witch doctor continued.

"Man place himself above the beasts. He think his cities and armies and songs of grand deeds make him better. He wrong! A man just another beast, made of blood and bone and meat. In the end he just more food for the vultures!"

The End.


End file.
